Vegas Strip below. Sin City. A hotbed of iniquity. And he was trapped here in this world, living a life that wasn’t his, working to save the souls of man because God held them in such esteem. They were so small and weak, yet He adored them and considered them His greatest creation. Because of them, He waged a hidden war against the Fallen One, a conflict so deep beneath mortal consciousness that no ripples marred the glassy surface. The Lord would never bring the matter to a head. Devotion was more powerful when it came from faith and not from absolute proof.
So Raguel helped the situation along on his own. Step by step. Carefully planning and maneuvering. The sooner the arrival of Armageddon, the better. He was certain the Lord would appreciate the tapestry, once it was fully threaded. It was, after all, an incredibly clever scheme.
Cain and Abel had set the chain of events in motion by fighting to the death over a woman. It was only fitting that they should bring about the end of days in the same fashion.
The moon was hidden by the canopy of tree leaves above him, but Reed’s enhanced sight had no trouble seeing in the darkness. He moved through the Kentucky forest like a wraith, swift and silent.
His veins still throbbed from the force of Takeo’s herald, sent hours ago. Takeo meant “warrior” in Japanese, a fitting moniker. He had been a perfect Mark, his training as a yakuza assassin had stood him in good stead. Reed missed him already and knew he would miss him for years to come. None of the other Marks on his team had been as skilled in killing tommyknockers—malevolent faeries with a fondness for mines. Which was why Reed was so shocked by his death. The assignment he had given Takeo should have been a simple one: vanquish a troublesome tommyknocker.
A twig snapped to his right and Reed paused. The forest was deathly quiet aside from that one noise, a sure sign that nature had been seriously disturbed.
“Abel,” a familiar female voice greeted.
“Mariel. What are you doing here?”
The mal’akh appeared from behind a nearby tree. Although the night robbed the color from everything, he knew her hair was red and her eyes green. She wore a floral dress, jean jacket, and cowboy boots, as well as an oppressive air of melancholy.
“Raguel sent me after you, most likely as punishment for losing two Marks today.”
“I’m sorry.”
“As am I.” She pivoted and gestured to the right. “This way.”
Reed followed her to the edge of a clearing. She paused there and he drew abreast of her. A chill swept down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
The clearing was not a natural feature. De cades-old trees had been felled and pressed into the ground, deep enough to create a flat surface. The night breeze blew, whistling eerily through the limbs and boughs, fluttering through tissue that clung to stems and errant grass. Tissue bearing the colorful markings of irezumi—“hand-poked” Japanese tattoos.
“Dear God,” he breathed, recoiling. “Is that skin?”
Blinking, Reed engaged the nictitating membranes that enhanced his night vision. The silver and black of the moonlit vista changed into living color.
Blood red. Everywhere. On every leaf and blade, on every inch of bark, all the way to the sky. As if Takeo had exploded from the inside out, splattering his body from the earth to the heavens.
“What happened h-here?” He cleared his throat. “What did this?”
As if in answer, an owl cooed its sorrow. A wolf howled in torment and was quickly joined by several of its pack. As the forest denizens sobbed their tales of the night’s events, a cacophony of grief rose to the heavens. It hammered at Reed from all sides and nearly brought him to his knees.
Mariel’s hand reached for his. She squeezed gently. “I don’t know.”
The din ceased as quickly as it had begun. A weighted sense of expectation replaced the mourning. They wanted to know who would save them from the fate they’d witnessed that night. They listened avidly, unmoving and barely breathing.
“One of my charges and her mentor were killed this way today,” she said. “I felt the herald and I went to them immediately. Immediately. But it was already past the time when I could have done anything to help them. The mentor was already dead. It was as if they waited too long to call me—”
“Or the Infernal struck too harshly and quickly.”
She pivoted to face him.